


Crimson Thoughts

by Jessica_Bones_Winchester



Category: Crimson Peak (2015), Crimson Peak - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7062766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessica_Bones_Winchester/pseuds/Jessica_Bones_Winchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles/one-shots as told by Thomas Sharpe. His innermost thoughts at different points through the film. Rated M for possible future content. If you've seen the movie, you know the possible warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soft Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ColtsAndQuills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColtsAndQuills/gifts).



Lucille always chose the women. It was Lucille who chose Eunice. The McMichael family had money, and that was what we needed. A marriage with Eunice would secure that money, but that was the safety net. Lucille and I made our way to America, Eunice's home, to try to gain funds for my machine. No one understood our desperation. The family home was decaying and falling down around us. The family money was gone, the bulk of it wasted by our father. My machine, which would mine the red clay from the ground around Allerdale Hall, our only possession, was our only hope for survival, but we had no money to fund its production and operation.

I always walked into these meetings hopeful that someone would finally see promise in my idea... in me. Secretaries were a formality, but I had come across none like Edith. She made no pretense of politeness. I was unaware of what I could have done to deserve the scorn that laced her words, but I ignored it as the words on the pages caught my eye. Her words. Fiction. What little I was able to read seemed brilliant. When she softened as I complimented the work, I saw her differently. Young, attractive... not someone Lucille would choose.

Of course, Edith was no secretary. She was the daughter of the man who held my future in his hands. His rough, work-worn hands. Hands that mocked mine along with his words. He assumed I lived my life in the glory of privilege. A man like him would never understand the horrors I had seen... committed.

_You've got the softest hands I've ever felt._

Those words struck me harder than any blow. To see the look of pity on Edith's face as she watched her father begin his rejection, then hear those words that questioned my very manhood... that was worse than any mere denial of funds.

Soft hands. That insult would seal his daughter's fate. It was then I chose to take charge, for once. I would no doubt cause a stir to so suddenly shun Eunice, but Edith would be mine. Then, Cushing's money. Edith wouldn't be too hard to sway. The softened look on her face as I praised her work gave her away. Like me, she wanted to be taken seriously. Like me, she wanted to be seen for more than what was on the surface.

Like me, Lucille would take care of her. Lucille took care of them all. She, like Mr. Cushing, found my hands to be too soft for the rough work.


	2. Unplanned

I couldn't say when I actually began to care for Edith, but I can pinpoint the moment I realized it. When her father confronted me and Lucille about my previous marriage, and paid us to leave the country.

_Does she know?_

It struck me odd that that was my first concern.

When he asked me to break Edith's heart. I felt my eyes water, and it surprised me.

It had to be done. There was no way around it. Cushing had money and influence. We had nothing but his generous offer of secrecy to avoid future scandal.

I knew the way to break Edith's heart: her work, her vision, her exposed soul. Somewhere in my little speech an inner rage took over. I was more angry with myself than her as I berated her sentimentality. Lucille had taught me the sacrifice and horror of love. Edith would never understand that, and so I explained as best I could, through gritted teeth and tears, without revealing our secrets.

The slap across my face hurt almost as much as her father's comment about my soft hands.

Lucille, of course, wasn't willing to risk Cushing sharing our scheme with anyone else. The next morning I wrote a letter to Edith, explaining that her father made me break her heart, and that I would return when I could convince her father I didn't want his money. That was a lie, of course, but something in me wanted Edith to know I hadn't meant what I told her. Part of me needed to believe I didn't mean the things I said about love.

It surprised me when Lucille suggested I still try Edith as a way to the money. She told me to stay behind while she went back to England. My initial reaction, drilled into me by years of having only Lucille, was to protest. I didn't want to be left behind.

I also didn't want to face Edith's father again, and Lucille agreed. She told me she would take care of it in time for her train. Lucille always took care of everything.

I went back to our hotel, and saw Edith step out of the room where I had stayed. I almost hated to call her name. I wanted to stare at her there. I wanted to see the sadness of her thinking I was gone, and not of the words I had spoken.

I had rehearsed what I would tell her. Our hearts were connected. I would die without her. It wasn't until she leaned into me, kissed me, that I realized my words were true. I hesitated, but kissed her back. I let myself get lost in it. Something I had never done with the others. Something I forced myself to do, and in my lonelier moments longed to do, with Lucille.

When Edith's lips left mine, I caressed her face, holding her to me. I didn't want it to stop. A warm feeling spread through me until I had to pull away, but I pulled her into an embrace. I didn't want to let her go. Edith awakened in me a feeling of peace and hope that no one ever had. It was the opposite of how Lucille made me feel. Edith was the opposite of everything Lucille was.

But the feeling didn't last as we looked upon Cushing's dead body. I knew the sight of Lucille's violence. Edith turned to me for support. She leaned into me, and cried, and I was her rock. Something I had never been for anyone. No one ever needed me like Edith did in that moment.

I liked that feeling. I had a brief thought that my soft hands would be of great comfort to Edith, but I chided myself for it. Any ill will I had toward Edith's father no longer mattered. Edith was mine.

And we would soon be home with Lucille. That thought alone made it easy to put off any intimate advances from Edith on our long journey. Jealousy would see Edith dead before we could get the money.


End file.
